Finding the Scattered Pieces
by This Southern Yank
Summary: "I never expected to see her again. She was just the girl my son dated and left behind, but fate pushed her back into my life. And instead of returning her to sender, I held on to her because, broken or not, she filled a hollow space in my heart." AH
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, the material would never, ever, EVER be considered preteen-appropriate. And there would be no Burger King promos.

This is not my first fanfic, but it is the first I've shared in years and definitely my first of the Twilight persuasion.

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**Emmett's POV**

If someone had told me this morning that this afternoon I would be heading down the four-oh-one to a mental institution, I would have wondered if that someone had just escaped from one.

But here I am. On the freeway. In this tiny car. Which is too fucking warm. My arm keeps sticking to the leather upholstery every time I move and I have to move in order to prevent leg cramps. My knees are pressing into the damn dashboard. I suppose a single man has no need for a full-sized vehicle. I keep my complaints to myself however, because after an hour of arguing, Dad and I are on shaky ground and I'm not sure he would oppose to dumping me on the side of the road.

I told him last weekend that I would be stopping by to spend the day with him, but I guess it slipped his mind. I drove up his drive to find him walking to his car. The jeans and t-shirt were definitely a red flag. I've never seen him dress this casually. Not outside of the house. At first, I teased him about brushing off his eldest son to go have brunch with some MILF, but the look on his face only troubled me further. He didn't look embarrassed or apologetic or anything that I expected. His mouth settled into a firm line and his hand lifted to run through his blond, slightly graying hair. I recognized that body language. It was the same way he held himself after catching me in the back of my Jeep with Kate Denali. The I-Don't-Want-To-Deal-With-This-Shit look.

My first thought was: What kind of secret could my squeaky clean Dr. Dad be sitting on? Survey says…..

A shit storm apparently. All to do with Eddie-boy's ex from high school. Bella Swan.

Edward and Bella went their separate ways shortly after their graduation. Or more appropriately, Edward hopped a flight to Europe and yelled back over his shoulder that they should date other people. Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but with the way the story's told and considering how much of a prick he was in those days, my version isn't that far off.

Dad said that Bella had been a resident at Fairmount Facility for nearly a year now and he made time to see her at least once a week. It disturbs me that I'm so distant from my father that he could keep this kind of a secret without anyone having a clue. With our parents announcing their divorce and me moving a couple of states over for my first big post-college job offer that eventful summer, we hardly noticed when Bella slowly faded out of sight. She ghosted her way into town without any notice; we figured that she went out the same way. People in the town diner were talking about the 'for sale' sign in her yard the morning I skipped out of Forks myself.

A part of me felt guilty for allowing a person to completely fade from thought, but Bella never allowed herself to integrate into our family. She dated Edward for almost two years and no one managed to get stimulating conversation out of her. After some minor hounding on my part, she played a Call of Duty session, at which she was oddly skilled once she got the hang of it, and Mom called it a Christmas miracle.

I could see how most of the town thought she was a better-than-thou, spoiled kid, but with the aid of Google and some ties to the police department, Mom found out her story. Basically, she was an heiress to an Italian family. Three months before the people of Forks saw her moving truck, her father died of a heart condition, making her the sole beneficiary of a president's ransom. We couldn't find much on her mother, but there was enough information to assume that she was alive and well somewhere in Europe.

I've always wondered why she came here. Since she was emancipated, loaded, and according to Edward, spoke several languages, she could have moved to virtually anywhere in the world. Hell, Forks is only a couple of hours from Canada!

But…there are more pressing questions that need to be asked. God only knows how many are scurrying around in my brain, but when they get on the path to my mouth, the bastards evaporate and prance their vapory asses to the back of the queue. I wouldn't know what I know of the current situation if Dad didn't divulge most of it so freely. So I sit here thinking myself into a headache, staring out of the passenger side window.

I try to fill in the blanks myself for a while when I come to a lengthy one. There was quite some time between Ed and Bella's split and the beginning of her stay at the loony bin. Eight months or so if my calculations are correct, so I did manage to ask one question after an hour of wordless traveling:

"What did she do to get committed?"

After a few tense seconds, Dad simply replied, "She overdosed."

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Now…the one thing I've always loved about fanfic is the direct interaction the writer gets to have with the readers. Keeping with that love, I want everyone to tell me how they'd like the story to progress. And not just romantically! Share your thoughts about any possibility. I have an outline, but things are always subject to change. ;)

The following chapters, if there is a demand or desire or even slight interest for more, will definitely be longer. Feel free to critique! I think I can take it…


	2. Should Have Left My Brain In the Car

Disclaimer: I cannot legally, morally, or genuinely take credit for the power house that is the Twilight franchise.

A minor correction from Part 1: Bella is not attending a state institution. I apologize.

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**Emmett's POV**

After a two hour long drive, we finally pull up to Fairmount. Or rather the giant iron security gate that separates Fairmount from the rest of society. Dad lets down his window with one hand and pulls his license from the visor with the other.

"Running a little late today, Dr. Cullen?" the female guard behind the glass inquires.

"No man is perfect, ma'am." He glances at me and points toward my pocket, indicating that I should take out my own. It takes a bit of maneuvering and a soundtrack of sighs from my left before I can snatch my wallet from my jeans. A few receipts fall out from the main compartment as I wiggle my ID out of the side flap. There is no way I'm reaching down to retrieve them because I won't be coming up unscathed. Rose is always getting on me about organizing this thing and times like this, I consider considering it.

I give him the card and he drops them both into a chute. The guard sends back two visitor's passes and a loud buzzer sounds. The iron gates slide apart and the Beamer lurches forward. Eager are we, Pops?

At first sight, the two-story building can pass as a school. It seems oddly normal with its shrubbery and brown bricks, but upon closer inspection, I see gray bars on most of the windows. Talk about a gilded cage.

"Security is adamant about the badge being visible," Dad says as he slides cleanly into a parking space. I clamp the pass to my jacket's lapel.

"Nobody's going to try and morph into a Power Ranger and kick my ass, right?" I joke, but the humor is completely neglected.

"Shouldn't, no. We'll have an escort to the courtyard. The level of security present is more because of the caliber of the patients than because of any threat they can pose."

Oh. Layman's terms: for the literally crazy rich. "So…what do I do if I run into Charlie Sheen?"

"Tell yourself that it's his long lost twin, Chuck," he replies.

"Have you been watching the soaps on your break again?" He doesn't answer and moves to get out of the car.

I'm glad there's not anyone in the space next to us because I need the room. I slip into my coat once I've escaped the heat box. I spot the metal detectors just inside the entrance and I toss my phone back onto the seat. I won't be making any calls or checking my e-mails during this little visit anyway.

We make our way up the sidewalk and as we reach the door, the guard inside opens it. Is that in his job description? We drop our keys into the white basket lying on the table next to the detector and walk through without a problem.

There is a welcome desk which actually has a vase of daffodils sitting on it. Really? I knew I wouldn't be waltzing into Arkham, but I didn't expect flowers in fucking sky blue vases. Or grinning women in white scrubs for that matter.

The nurse stands up as we approach and the longer she holds that teeth-baring smile, the more it unnerves me. You're in an institution for unstable people. Look a little less ecstatic about it.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Cullen," she greets.

"Good afternoon, Rachel." Damn. First name basis with the staff, eh?

"This must be Emmett. It's nice to meet you." What the hell? I look to my father, but he's busy scribbling away on a clipboard. The confusion must be plastered on my face because she goes on to explain, "Your father called ahead to notify that he'd be bringing someone else along today. Protocol." He must have done that when I went to the bathroom before we left the house.

"Okay. Well, it's nice to meet you as well, Rachel." She's smiling enough for everyone so I don't give her the pleasure of the boys: Dimple 1 and Dimple 2.

"She's already in the courtyard waiting. James will take you back." She points to a man standing on the corner that I didn't notice before. How on earth had I missed this guy? In a hallway of white, light pink, and taupe, he is wearing all black. He's an inch or so shorter than me and seems to be about my age, but it's hard to tell with the sneer on his face. There's a holster on his belt that houses a pretty intimidating firearm. I don't know much about guns so it could be a stun gun for all I know.

"Dr. Cullen," he grunts, completely ignoring my presence, before pushing off the wall and taking off down the hall.

The eerie silence is making me increasingly uncomfortable. We pass a few offices and they are completely empty. Then a small epiphany strikes. I don't get these often. I'm looking for normalcy in a place that I really shouldn't. The only thing I can compare this to is what I've seen on television. Calm down, Emmett. Stop overreacting. It's just after noon. Maybe they took a lunch.

We reach a set of wide double doors and James the Giant Prick presses a five-digit code into a pad. On the top of it, a small light jumps from red to green and I hear the lock turn. Dad steps around James and goes through the door. I give a parting glance to the guard and he offers a curt nod before reaching to close the door.

This is definitely not the too wet, too green nature I grew up with in Forks. I think Rose showed me something from Home & Garden like this. The oak trees have all types of flowers surrounding the bottom of their trunks. Oh, look what we have here. A white gazebo. Shrubs are running along the fence. Well, it's more of a wall. About eight feet high. Maybe that part wasn't in Rose's magazine.

A little over a dozen people are scattered throughout the yard. The patients are easily discernible in their blue pajamas, talking to their friends and family. Nothing seemed to be too far out of the ordinary except I think the guy about ten yards away from us is having a debate with himself. I can't pick up the subject.

Dad is scanning the faces for Bella and I don't even try. It's been nearly three years. I doubt I'll recognize her. He must have spotted her because he's off towards the gazebo. There's only one person on it. I follow with a smirk.

Bella is sitting on a bench, blue pj's and all but with a white one-size-too-large sweater. Her chestnut brown hair is much shorter than I remember. It just reaches her shoulders now. A hint of a smile plays on her lips as Dad climbs the steps. She stands and they hug wordlessly. Cue the face fall. Why do I feel like I'm invading on a private moment?

Oh, damn. It's like a generator is starting up in my head. I picture myself beating the fucking thing with a baseball bat. Don't go there. It's merely a hug. A full-body contact hug. That's still happening. Wait, they're talking. Pay attention!

"How've you been?" he asks softly.

"Well enough considering the environment. Yourself?" It's hard to hear them over the slight wind.

"Well enough considering," he mimics. What is this? Playfulness?

"Hi, Emmett," she acknowledges me as she takes a step back from Dad. I feel like she's staring at me. Oh. Make a reply.

"Hey, Bella." Do I ask how she's been? No. Dad asked not five seconds ago. Fuck, this is no longer a pause. It's forming into an awkward silence.

"Carlisle told me that you got married a little while ago." I had forgotten how intensely she looks at people. It's as though she demands eye contact. At least she's not frowning.

"Yeah. Last May." I should offer more than these perfunctory responses, but when I forced myself to stop thinking about Dad and Bella….in that way, I may have shut down the section that houses my conversational skills.

"How was the first year?"

"It was a breeze," I answer sarcastically. It wasn't that bad, but I'm finally starting to find the ground under my feet again.

"Well, that's good," she says in that polite roundabout fashion.

Dad senses that that is pretty much it for us and jumps in, asking about her sessions. She deflects his questions easily and asks about the hospital and the practice he's been thinking about starting with Uncle Eleazar. I have to give Bella credit. She's hanging on every word. Even asking a few thoughtful questions. I'm normally half-assing my way through the medical dialogue by now.

She moves back to the bench and we take her lead, settling down on either side of her. I listen to the inquiries about people I can barely remember and the barely funny jokes, some of them the you-had-to-have-been-there kind. Dad tries to include me by tossing insignificant questions my way, but my answers were always 'No, not really' or 'I don't recall that'. I get that distant feeling again and I feel awful that it has been four months since I've visited him.

I'm less disturbed by this relationship though. Whatever it may be. It could be perfectly innocent. It could be the kind of relationship that forms between two lonely people. After the divorce, Dad threw himself into medicine more passionately than I'd ever witnessed and Bella was always a bit of an outsider. Despite the age difference, they could very well be only friends.

I hope they're only friends.

God, what if they-

"Excuse me. Lois only calls if it's something important." Dad strides off the gazebo, Blackberry pressed to his ear. Leaving me alone with Bella.

He moves out of my sight, but I can still make out his voice. Bella uncrosses her legs and turns toward me. She watches me for a moment before speaking.

"Why did you come?" Wow. Um. Huh. "I don't mean to be rude, but you and I weren't particularly close. I can only think that there's some reason as to why you would make a two-hour drive to visit with someone who is little more than a stranger." Is that a cricket chirping in my brain?

"Is there something you wanted to know? Ask?" she presses.

Curiosity didn't kill the cat. It just left him fucking stranded in an intellectual wasteland. What do I tell her? What exactly did I hope to gain from this adventure?

"This is an incredible situation, Bella. I don't know why I'm here really. I find out that my father has been hiding some sort of affiliation with my little brother's ex-girlfriend. I just want to know what's going on. Even though I'm not totally sure that it's my place to know everything." There. Whew.

"My first instinct is to tell you that Carlisle isn't hiding his _affiliation _with me, but that would be a lie. Carlisle has been an integral part of my life for two years and the only reason why he wouldn't have told you is if he didn't want you to know. Why that is, I don't know. It's a topic we've masterfully avoided."

The entire time she's talking, the fingers of her right hand are moving randomly in the air. "But I feel the need to tell you that Carlisle and I have never been…with one another." She catches my eye to reinforce her point. "And neither is he a father figure to me. I have-had a father. Carlisle is just…" she trails off and shakes her head.

"Carlisle is the only real friend I've ever had." I allow that to settle and then set it aside.

"I believe you. I really do," I add when a doubting expression comes over her face. "But how does my dad feel about you?"

She fiddles with her sleeve, plucking at a tiny string. "I'm not sure. And to tell you the truth, that scares the shit out of me."

You and me both, sister.

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This is about a thousand more words than the previous chapter and I feel comfortable saying that this is a shorter length than I intended. It was a good place to stop.

Also, I use the awesome Emmett because I want a lighter tone before we enter into the darker stuff: Carlisle and Bella's first meeting after the break-up.

Wholehearted thanks to those who dropped in, favorited, alerted, and reviewed! You have me constantly checking my e-mail. I wouldn't mind if you did that again, you loverly people. :D


	3. We've Come To the Main Course

Disclaimer: I cuss like a mauf***in' sailor. I am not Stephenie Meyer.

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**Emmett's POV**

Dad returned from his call and I watched the two interact firsthand for another hour until they went off for a walk. I was more or less accepting of that because she was right. We are little more than strangers and they may have had to discuss things about her current condition that strangers don't share with one another. And I trusted her word that they weren't being…inappropriate. I had to because I couldn't imagine that they traipsed off to hump like sex-crazed teenagers behind one of those giant oak trees.

Ugh…that image is going to haunt me for the next six to nine months.

But my suspicions about Dad's feelings are far from extinguished. Tell-tale things from his body language to the tone of his voice point to the strong possibility that he had some kind of romantic feelings for her, but I can't bring myself to ask him. Asking that question would do more than rock the boat. It would capsize a fleet and our little coalition has suffered enough damage.

The return trip was more silent than the drive up. He knew what I was thinking and I knew that he wasn't ready to have a discussion which would undoubtedly be epic so not one word was spoken until we entered the house.

He asked if I wanted pizza.

I replied that pizza was fine as long as he ordered a supreme deep-dish.

...

The empty box is lying on the coffee table and there's some middle-aged guy in thick-rimmed glasses talking emphatically about something political on the TV. I'm not listening and I doubt Dad really is either. I lower the volume anyway.

"Are you gonna explain all of this?"

"I suppose I should."

**October 2008, Carlisle's POV**

So far, the Seattle convention has been a waste of time. The only presentation I was interested in was for a state-of-the-art CT-scan. Forks General is in dire need of one. Every other month, one of the two breaks down and the wait time to use the second is prolonging the healing process. I didn't volunteer to attend because I'm not fond of conventions; they tend to be bleak, but my superior noticed my constant presence at the hospital and strongly suggested that I make the trip in his place. Though technically I'm still working, I can at least be away from the bloody, tearful mess of the emergency room.

As much as I enjoy my job, going too long without some sort of a reprieve can have seriously negative effects. I can't remember the last time I had a full night's sleep. That leads to unaffordable mistakes. That is something both the doctors and the bean-counters can agree on.

When the presenter of the Orsten-400 started muddling over key facts, I decided to spend the night doing some research of my own. I called a few acquaintances I had gathered over the years and it turns out that half the time, the scanner had not lived up to its expectations. It was rumored that after three years, the maintenance required to keep the equipment running at its best cost more than what the damn thing is worth. Waste. Of. Time.

There is three more days to the conference and after sharing my findings with the boss, I was advised to stay with an implication that I could spend the remaining time doing whatever I desired. The following seminars are about surgical techniques that I have no wish to learn. I've never wanted to snoop around in someone's brain with tiny microscopes or replace heart valves with that of farm animals.

I spent most of the day in my hotel room and around sunset, I grew tired of scanning through channels. I wandered downstairs and took a seat in the back of the dark bar lounge just to the right of the lobby.

Roughly an hour later, I am still here.

I'm not much of a drinker so in my hand is only my second scotch. I swirl the amber liquid around the glass, listen to the light clinking of ice against glass, and try not to think of anything in particular. I glance to the entrance every time someone leaves or arrives, but otherwise I keep my eyes on the flawless mahogany table. It reminds me of the desk Esme bought me for my office.

It was a gift for our twenty-second anniversary. I replaced it with a smaller oak one with a black finish a few weeks ago after the divorce went through. It doesn't go as well with the maroon carpet, but it does the job.

I take another sip and hiss as the drink burns a path down my throat and spreads throughout my chest. _Lightweight,_ I chide myself. I'm not drunk yet, but it is slowly becoming harder to focus.

I gaze at the strip of lighter flesh on my ring finger and fight the urge to cover my hand. Five months have passed, it still feels naked. I took it off the night we told Emmett and Edward. By that time, the divorce was nearing finalization. We contacted a lawyer based here in Seattle once Emmett had guaranteed us he would be graduating from State and when Edward received all of his acceptance letters.

Quite some time ago, Esme and I had come to the conclusion that our marriage wasn't salvageable. We tried everything. Marital counseling, the couples' retreats, switching things up in the bedroom. That was just awkward. The foundation we needed was gone entirely and our lives gradually crumbled into stale routines and a general state of detachment.

The boys weren't at all surprised by our announcement. Apparently, they had seen it coming for years. That is the part which I regret most. I thought we could keep our problems from affecting our children, but all we did was create a constant dread in our house. Each day they wondered if their mother and I would sit them down after dinner and tell them about our failure of a marriage. I so badly wish I could change that.

Although our divorce didn't come as a revelation to the kids, I saw them go through the transition with their own difficulties. Emmett's mentality devolved into what it was in his teens. He constantly joked about living arrangements and holiday schedules and it was nothing but disconcerting. He couldn't help himself. It is his defense mechanism. Even now.

Edward disengaged from the family almost completely. Suddenly, he wanted to take off to Europe for the summer and we did what guilty parents do. We appeased him. He broke up with his girlfriend of two years on a Tuesday night and we saw him off the next morning. He gave his mother a one-armed squeeze and me a nod and then he was gone.

Esme watched the plane turn down the runway and the sobs began as soon as the wheels left the ground. It was the last time I hugged her. It was a short-lived embrace because while it was meant to be comforting, it was distant and mechanical. She turned and walked away, wiping furiously at her eyes and smudging her eyeliner. I watched her go until she was lost amongst the happy, smiling families going away for their summer vacations. I'm ashamed to admit that a part of me truly hated those people for a second.

I knew then that our divorce was the right thing to do. Her tears didn't seize my heart and seeing the distance grow between us didn't stir the slightest urge to run after her. There was nothing left for us anymore. In that very moment, I was certain of it.

I sigh loudly and the noise catches the bartender's attention. He points at my glass and asks if I want another. I shake my head and he continues wiping down the bar.

I thank God that things are better now, but I will not romanticize the state of things. Esme and I pretend that the other doesn't exist and the boys play along. We all got together to help Emmett move into the house he bought in Denver a month ago and we avoided each other like the plague. I set up a television in the den as she organized the kitchen. She hung up curtains while I hung pictures in the hallway. I couldn't help but feel ridiculously immature when we went our separate ways again. I vow to make it a New Year's resolution to act my age whenever I must deal with my ex-wife.

My eyelids are beginning to droop so I set aside my drink and drag my hand down my face. I will not go to bed at six o'clock in the evening. I'm not old enough for that milestone yet. I notice a flash of color near the door and I turn my head to inspect. A woman is draping her coat over her arm and examining the room. Her dress, a vibrant red and dangerously low cut, is too bright for the room. I blink deliberately. Her focus falls on me and a sensual smile breaks onto her face.

Oh, shit.

Her heels are clicking against the floor and her hips are sashaying to a beat I recognize. Women play that primal song for me more often that not, but I haven't danced in a long time. Not with Esme. Not with anyone. She is a striking woman, but after wallowing in my sorrows, I'm not in the mood.

_Use it or lose it, old man._ I groan mentally. Ever since the divorce, a piece of my personality has fractured from the whole and has acquired a desperation to recapture our youth. I'm forty-five years old. There's hardly any youth to chase down.

_You won't have to chase it. It's coming right at you._ Surely enough, the woman has reached my table.

"May I join you?_" _she asks, lustily gazing down at me.

Damn those drinks. I want to say no, but what comes out of my mouth is, "Sure."

Instead of sitting down across from me, she moves to take the seat beside me. Her fingertips graze my back of my neck before she pulls back the chair. She angles it inward and makes a show of sitting down; her breasts are headlining.

"I'm Michelle." There's a compulsion to knock back the rest of my brandy, but I picture myself drunkenly falling out of the chair. I take a deep breath and tug at my collar.

"Carlisle."

"Carlisle, hm?" That is what I said, isn't it? "Are you visiting someone in Seattle, Carl?"

Dear God, woman. Don't call me that. "No. There's a convention I'm attending."

"Oh! I only know about one convention going on this week. Are you a doctor?" Her eyes light up and she leans in a bit further.

"I am."

She reaches over to lay her hand on my forearm. "I heard that it can be very stressful. Your job." I may have heard this one before…. "But as a doctor, I'm sure you know all the ways to alleviate stress." She looks up at me through her long lashes. I chuckle and she smiles.

Dare I tell her that I don't carry much cash? Visit a big city often enough and you learn the difference between hopeful flirting and solicitation. The flirting usually lasts longer before the offer is actually introduced. I think it's safe to assume what Michelle wants and wants in return, but in the case that I'm wrong, I need to send her off as delicately as possible.

I cover her hand with my own and gently push her away. "My stress level's just fine, but thank you for concern."

"Mm-hmm. Well, you can never be too safe. Take me to your room so we can double check." She traces the skin of her collar which I admit looks delectably soft. I turn away and another woman at the door catches my eye. This one is the polar opposite of the woman at my side.

Speaking of Lady Michelle, she heaves in frustration before standing abruptly. "I guess your type is a bit younger."

It's amusing how you can tell a woman's mood by the sound of her heels. The rapid, almost violent, snapping she leaves in her wake lets everyone in the room know that she's upset. A few of the other loungers look to me and I shrug internally.

Michelle mistook my sudden interest in this other younger woman. I recognize her. It's Bella Swan taking a place at the bar. What a small, small world.

Bella so hastily moved out of town that it was difficult to believe that she was standing fifteen feet away from me. After two weeks of not seeing a glimpse of her, I phoned her to find that her number had been disconnected. I stopped by her house to find that it was for sale. It was incredible how she wholly disappeared from Forks. It was as if she never existed. And here she is, ordering a club soda.

Bella Swan is such a mystery. And I worried about her from the minute Edward invited her into our lives.

With his youth, I doubt Edward ever perceived what Esme and I did. He didn't see much past her pretty face and quiet European charm. Esme's motherly instincts blared within seconds of meeting her. She didn't give Edward a difficult time about dating the girl because I convinced her that Bella was harmless, but the world's best negotiator couldn't stop Esme from doing a background check. She found nothing of serious consequence.

There was a perpetual sadness surrounding her and I wanted to bring her into the family, show her kindness, but I never made any leeway with her. Neither of us did. She had placed a wall between herself and us and the closer we came to it, the higher she would build it. It was beautiful in a twisted way. She so skillfully dodged questions about her past, it seemed like performance art.

Bella was definitely unlike the girls Edward normally showed an interest in. I never understood why they dated. Or why it lasted for so long. She was nonchalant about everything and teenage romance is supposed to be a whirlwind of emotions. Esme shared one theory about the nature of their relationship and the next afternoon, I was covering 'the talk' with my younger son once again.

I'm up and crossing the room to her before I can properly weigh the pros and cons. She hears me approach and twists on her stool to face me. Her eyes widen in surprise before settling back into a neutral state.

"Dr. Cullen, it's nice to see you again." I suspected she had gotten thinner, but with her baggy clothes it was hard to tell. It's easy now that I can see the slight hollowness of her cheeks.

"Same to you. How are you, Bella?" I sit on the next stool.

"I'm well. You're in town for business?"

"I was. Now I'm practically on vacation. Are you scouting schools in the area?"

"….Sometimes." She takes a long drink.

"Have any of them appealed to you? Last time we talked, you hadn't chosen a major." I'm not sure if Bella expects to attend college at all. She surely has no financial need for a career if her inheritance is anywhere near the amount I expect it to be. She was always just as hesitant to divulge any future plans as she was about her history.

"Not really. I'm not sure what my path is right now." She places her glass on the bar and dives her hand into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt to retrieve her phone. The lime green color is unexpected.

I make another query because I get the impression that we're nearing the end of this exchange. "You're staying in the hotel?"

"Just until my apartment is fumigated. Termites," she answers, distracted still by her phone. "I should be going. It was a pleasure, Dr. Cullen." Her parting smile is like all of her other smiles. Automated, tiny, and a little vacant.

I'm more concerned about this girl than ever before. I don't know if it's the dark circles under her eyes or the woe that is flowing out of her very being, but I do know that I can't allow her to slip away again. No one should fade away like this.

"There's a café next door. We should have breakfast." My suggestion induces a questioning stare, but I am motionless as she studies me.

"Why should we?" she probes.

"Because as a doctor, I feel it is my duty to ensure that you have the most important meal of the day."

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "I've been stopping by that café a lot lately. Perhaps I'll see you there." And she's walking away. She turns the corner for the exit and I lose sight of her.

To an outsider it may not seem like much, but I considered a noncommittal breakfast with Bella a triumph.

* * *

You have no idea how insanely tempted I was to lengthen Emmett's part and leave Carlisle for the next chapter.

Thanks again to all the readers who let me know how they feel about the story.

To you lurkers out there: please drop a line. Even if you don't like my writing. I can't grow without your feedback.

What can I give you as incentive? Chapter previews? Outtakes in the form of different POV's or...whatever else I can come up with?

Click it! Click it! The force demands it...

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	4. The Great Escape Not Really an Escape

**Disclaimer: Must I have this blasted thing on every chapter? *goes back to read by-laws***

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**Bella's POV, October 2010  
**

It's easier to watch Carlisle leave after his visit today. And it's not because he's taking his six and a half foot tall surprise with him. He steps aside to allow Emmett into the building and I wonder if it's so his son doesn't see 'the tradition'. He looks back to wave at me and I smile and wave back. It's a bit corny, but it is so very Carlisle that I can't help but react.

Dr. Humphries. Even though I am pretty certain that I hate you and think you a slag of the lowest class, I could almost embrace you. I say almost because there are conditions to my release, but I can work with that. In a couple of weeks, I will be officially released from this facility as long as I continue therapy and have a dependable support system. Dr. Humphries suggested a sort of halfway house and I nearly choked on the scoff that erupted from my throat.

My hesitance scratched out the first option and left me with only two. Move in with Carlisle or move in with Uncle Marcus whose primary residence is in Italy. I don't want to return to my mother country and Marcus has been considered a distant relative until recently. One never contacted if not for Carlisle.

At one time, Carlisle theorized that if he found my mother, things would be better. I went from exasperated to infuriated with him, but he was nothing if not dedicated to his cause. I came to accept that Carlisle was very much a family man and believed that family could be medicine in and of itself. And who was I to disagree with him? He was the doctor.

The search eventually led him to her brother, Marcus. When the good doctor looked into Marcus, he inadvertently stirred the pot. Marcus, of course, found out immediately that he was being investigated by an American and used his own means to research Carlisle.

Since then there has been a natural contempt between the two. They try to downplay it for my sake, but it is so searingly obvious. Carlisle's brow furrows whenever I mention Marcus. Marcus' tone transforms from lukewarm to completely frigid when I mention Carlisle. And in the few times they've met in person, the air was so thick with tension, it was difficult scout for the humor. Difficult, but not impossible.

When I think of the two, I often see their heads on gigantic spiders. Carlisle's is brown. Marcus's black. The human-arachnid hybrids are poised on the opposite sides of a silver web, snapping their pincers at each other.

That is imagery that never fails to make me laugh aloud. Nobody takes a second glance at me. Laughing to myself is something I'll have to restrict when I'm back in the outside world. There's no reason to stay in the yard so I make my way to my room.

Oh, to be outside these walls again…

To go to my room without someone sitting at the end of the hall to authorize my entry.

Just because I no longer need to be sedated, it doesn't mean I'm at peace with this place. I hate it. I hate everything it tries to be. I was forced into a roach motel, complete with poison, and they dared to make it bright and happy? For the first few weeks, the pretty nurses and bright décor only served to bring me into a bubbling rage.

I pass into my room and quietly push up the door. I wish I could tape something onto the humongous fucking glass, but I cannot. Things could be worse. I could have a roommate. I shudder to think of the possibilities. I fall haphazardly onto my full-sized bed.

Yes. Things could be worse.

Around the time of my third violent outburst, I had earned myself a place in a solitary quadrant. There was a tiny window through which I never bothered to look. When the locks turned and Marcus walked in with his expensive trademark suit, I was a bit shocked. I shouldn't have been since ultimately it was Marcus who had placed me in Fairmount.

"_Nipote._"

"_Zio."_

"I'm here because your doctors are thinking about transferring you to a facility less lenient of your current behavior." Admittedly, that made me nervous, but I said nothing. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat beside me on my cot. "I've known unstable men, _nipote_. You can see the crazed soul behind their eyes. And when I look into yours, I see sadness. Only sadness. This is why I know I can get you to see reason.

"When you're here, I can oversee. I can pull strings. Get them to allow you privileges in time. But at a government-run institution, I will undoubtedly be less influential. I want this to be as easy as possible for you. So I implore you, _ragazza_, to behave yourself."

In the long run, Marcus' mild lecture helped. Maybe Carlisle was right about the family thing to a degree. I pulled a one-eighty, needless to say. I smothered my disdain and stewed in my disgust silently.

Though it was months before I made any real progress, I learned that if I gave them an inch, I did indeed get my privileges. Albeit very slowly. First came a private room in the light security wing. Then a laptop. And finally, restricted and supervised internet access. I even have an iTunes account. Not too shabby of a turnaround.

Mostly thanks to Marcus and his string-pulling.

After Dad died, I figured that was it for me in the realm of family, but Marcus hasn't disappointed me. It is endearing to think about all the things he's done for me. I am very grateful to him.

I look up at the sketches on my wall. My legitimate sketches. Not doodles I etched into the paint with a hairpin. I started them at Dr. Humphries' behest. When I confessed that whenever I visualized my father, I could only see him pale and thin on his deathbed, she recommended that I try to pencil him from a happier time. I had no pictures of him. I have no recollection of destroying them, but I must have at some point.

The good memories uncovered themselves little by little and now I have a fairly decent drawing of him. It's simple. A grey profile of his face, but it is my most accurate and so earned the top spot. Most of the pictures are stowed away in my desk, but the best I tape above my bed. Dad is highest and just to the lower right is Carlisle.

I don't make many depictions of Carlisle. I think I see him so often that I don't need a refresher. It's of him sitting in his home office. The place I've seen him at his most peaceful.

Then there's Marcus off to the left in all his kingly glory with his dark hair, piercing eyes, and pricey suit. There's not much to my uncle at first glance, but I'm coming to see the depth. Whether he likes it or not.

A nurse dropped in once and called it my Beautiful Man Shrine. I loath the ingenious title, especially since two of these beautiful men are related to me by blood, but it stuck like a foul smell.

They're my guys. My family. And it is beautiful that I have them given not too long ago, I was utterly alone.

I don't like to think about that time and it is the disassociation with the darkest points of my life that is the reasons why I will have to sit down weekly with a shrink. One of the reasons, I suppose.

The memories are like a caged snarling beast and I'm terrified to go anywhere near it. Not just because of the pain it threatens. I know its claws will rip at my head and my heart. I'm afraid because as hideous as that sinister fiend may be, it is also seductively familiar. It calls to me in my weakest moments with promises and reminders of the not-so-bad times. But it lies. It lies and I can't trust it. I can't if I want to be better. I can't trust it if I want to know what it's like to be free of it one day.

I didn't have any goals when I first attended therapy. That's why it wasn't effective. And hiding my problems was so easy. Not a soul knew who I was before my downward spiral. No one had anything to compare the new me to. What I showed them was all they knew. Everyone assumed I was an introvert. A socially awkward foreigner.

But Carlisle…? He saw something when even I thought there was nothing but a misshapen creature masquerading as my humanity. That man saw through me in a way that twisted my insides. Or maybe he was just the first person to take a real look in ages.

I don't know.

I feel like a selfish leech for having him, but I've long since surrendered to his kindness and faith. There are still moments when I look at him and feel like a charity case. I suspect my pride is to blame, but I remember the way he's never looked at me with pity. Only concern and…other things.

There's another type of disassociation, Bella.

Stow it, Bella.

What I told Emmett was true. The skill Carlisle and I have acquired in avoiding those other things should be awarded some gaudy and golden trinket. Or perhaps a plaque we could hang in the foyer when I move in.

It was rude to leave Emmett alone while I spoke privately with his father, but I didn't care in that moment. I had been planning how to ask Carlisle for days. I called him throughout the week, but it was a conversation I didn't want to have over the phone.

We strolled along the pond after we left Emmett on the gazebo, Carlisle taking the waterfront like a gentleman. Chivalry thrives in the doctor. I'm not sure if that is such a good thing. Dad used to tell me that too much kindness wasn't good for you. Someone will always be waiting to take advantage.

"What would you say to us living together again?" He stopped to face me.

"They're releasing you? When?" I liked to see his face light up like that. When he grinned, his grey-blue eyes shone with childlike giddiness.

"November 14. Providing that I don't live alone and willingly lay out on a doctor's horrendous leather couch periodically to talk about my feelings. Know anyone who would give me a chance?"

"I'm sure Jasper wouldn't mind you becoming his patient again. Does he need to contact Dr. Humphries for your paperwork before they discharge you?" Someone was surely excited, but he wasn't alone. I wanted to take off running myself.

"Probably. I'll find out first thing Monday. If you'll email me his number, I'd like to phone him myself. Do you think that's okay?" One would think after two years, one would know the etiquette for contacting one's psychologist.

"Yes. Of course. I think that it's a good sign. You taking the initiative. It'll show him that you're more receptive to treatment than you were last year." Aww, shucks. Add proud to the giddy smile. I had come a long way since last November. I was too far gone by the time Carlisle convinced me to see Jasper Whitlock. At that point, no one even knew about the drugs. Not certainly.

"So…green light for cohabitation?" I asked anxiously, my hand raising to introduce an embarrassing high-five.

He shook himself out of his minor daze and replied, "Oh! Of course!" Instead of a high-five, he reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. "Green light," he said gently. I couldn't stop the smile from worming itself across my face. I tried to scale it down when it actually began to hurt my cheeks.

We hugged. We parted. He took his leave. And soon, I will leave with him. I'll never have to look back at this place. November 14th is marked on my calendar as what I hope will be the happiest day of my life.

* * *

**Translations:**

_**Nipote **_**- niece**

_**Zio - **_**uncle**

_**Ragazza - **_**girl**

**My English-majored friend shared some constructive criticism this weekend:**

"_**You've given a taste of the present and now you're just going to leave the readers hanging for a dozen chapters just to deliver the back story? People will get bored if you don't get back to the point."**_

**After much deliberation, I agreed with him. I changed the flow and gave you some insight to Bella which was a long time coming in my original outline. Bear with me, please. The facts of the story have not changed and here's the timeline to save any confusion:**

May 2008 - Carlisle and Esme announce their divorce; Bella and Edward graduate and break up

July 2008 - Bella leaves Forks

Oct 2008 - Carlisle runs into Bella in Seattle

Nov 2008 thru Nov 2009 - Like I would give this part away…

Dec 2009 - Bella is committed

May 2009 - Emmett marries Rose (in case anyone's curious)

Oct 2010 - Emmett finds out and visits

**Thanks for reading and please review with your questions, comments, and concerns!**

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